America, All Is Well!
by ZQ
Summary: He was sure something was off, but he couldn't think of what. All he knew was that he was being pushed to lie on a bed, and there was a pressure on his wrists, and he couldn't move his arms or legs, and a mechanical voice was saying America all is well America all is well America all is well… Kink Meme de-anon
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The World Meetings of the Nations had been going on for decades at least, and never once had one gone peacefully or orderly. As he watched the various countries stagger into the conference room and take their seats, Germany suspected that an orderly meeting for them all was simply an impossibility.

"Everyone, this is unacceptable!" he said, when they were all seated and as calmed down as he felt they could get. "This meeting was scheduled for ten o'clock, and you all have come in at eleven-fifteen! How are we supposed to solve the world's problems if we cannot even make our meetings on time?"

There was a flurry of excuses, ranging from "My alarm clock didn't go off!" to "I was, like, totally busy fixing my hair!"

"Nein," said Germany, cutting them all off. "We have been slacking off far too much, as of late. Lateness aside, far too many of you have not been taking this seriously. Romano, there were complaints from the janitors about stains from the tomatoes you threw at Spain at the last meeting! Don't do that again! China has still not shown up! Also, America missed our last meeting, and it looks like he's missing this one as well!"

France raised his hand. "_Pardon_, but when you say 'America', you mean the actual United States of America? Or are you mistaking him for Canada, who has also not been at the past few meetings?"

"I've never missed a single meeting," Canada said. "I've also been on time to them all."

No one heard this.

"By 'America' I meant America, yes," said Germany.

"I'll speak to the boy," said England. "Don't know what the idiot is up to. He usually loves showing up to these things, boisterous wanker that he -"

England was cut off as the door flew open with a bang. "Hey guys!" shouted America. "The hero has arrived!"

"America, you are very late," said Germany. "Go take your seat."

America laughed loudly and tried to navigate to the only two empty seats left. As he walked to the other side of the table, he staggered into the table's corner. He swore loudly and coordinated himself by bracing himself on the table's edge, any chairs he passed, and the nations sitting in them. Finally, he took the empty seat next to England.

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?" England hissed, as America crashed into the seat. "Are you drunk?"

"Ha! A hero does not attend meetings drunk!" said America, speaking so loudly that several nations jumped.

"Shhhhh! Shut it!" whispered England, clapping his hand over America's mouth. "What in the world has come over you?"

"If America and England are quite finished over there, we can begin our proposals," said Germany. "Now, first on the agenda is -"

"Ni hao! I apologize for being late. I was having a terrible time with traffic."

Germany rubbed his temples and nodded at the Chinese man that appeared in the doorway. "Fine, fine, just take your seat."

"With pleasure," said China.

"I think the chap's starting to get senile," muttered England. "Getting stuck in traffic, what next? What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"

The last comment was directed at America, whose eyes were glued to China. The instant the nation had entered the room, America had sat up, with his eyes narrowed and his face scowling. "Him," America growled. "Its his fault."

"His fault for what?" asked England. He was used to not being able to follow America's train of thought, but this was starting to bother him.

"He did this to me."

"Did what? Ban your movies? If that's what it is, you've hardly been bothered by that before."

By now, China had taken the last empty seat, which happened to be next to America. "Ni hao, America," said the older nation. "I hope you are in good health."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" America asked menacingly.

China raised his eyebrows but refrained from commenting. Germany was continuing the meeting, and his expression made it clear that if there were any more interruptions, the consequences would be dire.

Still, it was impossible for China or England to ignore the fury radiating off of the nation sitting in between them. It was frightening. America was almost always in a good mood. The times when he reached such levels of anger - when he and Russia had pointed guns at each other, or when Japan attacked him - everyone knew what caused it. Now? There was no reason for him to be in such a state, especially towards China.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

When Germany halted the meeting for a lunch break, America went straight to the bathroom. There were spots floating in front of his eyes, like a million, billion insects, but they disappeared if he looked close enough. He needed something to distract him.

He was pleased to find that the bathroom was empty. He needed quiet and alone. It was such a jumble in his head, he could hardly remember anything lately! He had been so pleased with himself for remembering to make it to the meeting, which his boss…his boss?…no, the other one thought would be so important. Yes, important. But he couldn't remember anything about it! He had to pull himself together! If he couldn't focus, how could he help his boss (the other) and save them all? He was the hero!

The flies were buzzing even more persistently in front of his face. He went to the nearest sink, fumbled with the taps for a minute, and finally managed to get cold water running. His hands were shaking, but he managed to get a little splashed on his face. That sort of helped.

"America old boy, are you sure that you're feeling alright?"

America nearly screamed, but managed not to, because that would be so unheroic. Instead, he forced a grin on his face as he turned towards England. "Me? Nah, I'm fine! Totally fine! Why?"

"Well for starters, there's the way you've been acting towards China - STEADY ON!"

It was amazing. The instant America heard China's name, his eyes bulged, his teeth ground together, and he lunged forward, punching his fist into the wall. Some part of him felt pleased that his reflexes were so good. After all, if that bastard was coming after him, he would need to be ready. Most of him was flooded with a searing hatred, though. China! How could he show his face at this meeting? Him and his little circus of circus of flunkies, Korea and North Korea and Taiwan and Japan…

Wait. He didn't hate Japan, did he? That guy made awesome video games, and they'd been getting along great. But he is China's younger brother. He must be forced into it. Or else he doesn't know. He doesn't know what his big brother is up to.

"Earth to America," said England, tapping his former colony on the head. His face was strangely pale, though his voice was steady. "What is going on up there?"

"Jeez England, you don't have to look so freaked out," said America. "None of them are going to get you. I'm the hero, I'll make sure of it."

"WHO is going to get me?" shouted England, throwing his hands in the air. "Forget drunk, America, are you fucking HIGH? Are you going through some change in political parties? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

America slipped his arm around England's shoulders. The poor guy was clearly scared of the danger. America didn't blame him, but he didn't want his former big brother to be stressed about anything. He gave England a wide, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about a thing," he whispered. "Give me enough time and I'll take care of it."

And with that, he walked out of the bathroom.

England had no clue what just happened.

It wasn't that America was just being strange. Oh no, that was par for the course. But he was rarely this violent, especially towards China, who he'd been on relatively good terms with as of late.

Something had to be done about this. Sneaking a look in the conference room, England could see America hunkered on the opposite side of the room from China, throwing intense glares in the Asian nation's direction. So America was keeping to himself for now, but this mysterious problem had to be headed off as soon as possible. America possessed many qualities, but an abundance of self-restraint was not one of them. If America truly thought China posed some sort of danger, it was only a matter of time before he retaliated and made the situation worse.

Unfortunately, England had no chance to take further action. Minutes after England made his decision, Prussia decided to steal Austria's reading glasses, only to be hit over the head with a frying pan, courtesy of Hungary. Germany promptly expelled Prussia from the conference room and ended the lunch break, ordering everyone back to their seats and to not even think about protesting.

For the rest of the meeting, England kept an eye on America. His former colony looked exhausted, but he gave his presentation with almost as much energy as usual, and only glared at China twice. England felt a little more hopeful at this. Perhaps America was just having an off day. Lord knew it wouldn't be the only time America caused undue stress on his friends.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

When the next World Meeting came around however, England was still concerned. He had spent the entire week attempting to text and e-mail America, but had gotten no responses to any of them. Something had to be going on. America was not the most observant of people, but even he should have noticed the number of messages England had sent. Not to mention that America loved talking to his fellow nations, if only to assure them of his heroic nature.

America was actually a bit early to the meeting, but he looked even worse this time. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was greasy and mussed. He was wearing some sort of formal jacket over his business attire, which besides being rather uncharacteristic (England could count on one hand how many occasions America counted as "formal", and World Meetings certainly did not make the cut) had to be uncomfortable for what a warm day it was.

"England!" said America, taking a seat next to him. He was speaking in the same loud voice as last week, as if he has less self control than usual. "You confused me because you weren't in the same place, but now we are! How are you?"

"Very well," said England, trying to make sense of the man's babbling. "How are _you_, dear boy? You didn't answer any of my messages."

"Hero didn't get messages," said America simply, resting his chin on his fist. He stared at the table, as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever beheld.

"America, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?" England demanded. "Don't pretend nothing is the matter. Tell me!" And he gently touched America's forearm.

America violently spun to face England, yanking his arm away. He tried to jump backwards at the same time, resulting in him nearly falling off of the chair and earning laughs and eye rolls from the other nations around the table.

"Now really!" said England, watching America right himself. "What was _that_ all about?"

"Took me by surprise," said America. "All is well, don't worry!" He smiled, but England was not reassured. America's eyes were strangely glassy, and he was being careful to keep his arms positioned so that England couldn't touch them again...

"This meeting is now called to order!" called Germany, interrupting England's musings. "Are all nations present and accounted for?"

Japan cleared his throat. "China-san regrets to inform us that he will be unable to make today's meeting. He sends his apologies, but it appears that complications have arose."

"HA!" shouted America, jumping up from his seat. "So the bastard finally learned his lesson, huh? Knows not to show his face around here, sneaky jerk!"

"What in the world?" asked England. "Sit down, you wanker!"

"Actually, America-san, I believe China-san has work he must finish for his boss," said Japan.

America froze. "Work…for his boss?"

"Yes, that is what he told me."

"Shit!" Before anyone could react, America threw himself across the table and grabbed Japan by the front of the shirt. His eyes were wide and he looked rather demented.

"America-san, _nani_?!" cried Japan.

"Japan! Quick! Did he say what he was working on?"

"I do not know! Please, stop touching me!"

"Anything? Anything at all?"

"I…was under the impression that it was to sort out economic issues! America-san, please!"

America turned away from Japan, still not letting go of the eastern nation's shirt. "He's lying, of course. Why would he let anyone know what he's really up to?" He turned back to Japan, shoving his face into that of the terrified nation's. "You're still on my side though, right? Right, Japan?"

"America!" England shouted, grabbing his former colony and yanking him away from Japan. "What's come over you? Leave Japan alone!"

"I just have to know where he stands!" snapped America. "He's China's brother! I have to make sure!"

"Make sure of _what_, you delusional twit?"

"Come to think of it, you aren't above suspicion yourself, Britain!"

England's jaw dropped. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me! Weren't you two all buddy-buddy during the eighteen hundreds?"

England stared at America. "Are you seriously talking about the _Opium Wars_? We were hardly 'buddy-buddy', I dare say!"

"Whatever! I can't trust you! I can't trust _any_ of you! Just -"

"America." It was Germany, who finally decided that America's ranting had gone beyond the usual threshold for strangeness. "That is enough."

"But they - but he -"

"I don't care. You are clearly not feeling well. Go home and rest. If you are not feeling well enough to attend the World Meeting next week, we all will understand."

For a minute, it looked like America would protest loudly. Finally, he turned and stormed towards the door. "Fine!" he snapped. "I'm _going_! But if you think I'm missing next World Meeting and looking weak in front of that bastard China, you have another thought coming!"

He slammed the door behind him. For some time, the nations sat in shocked silence. Finally, Russia spoke.

"How nice it is to no longer be the craziest one here," he said, smiling pleasantly.

* * *

England tried to pass America's behavior off as a bug of some sort. Or stress. Or the aftermath of some political scandal. _Something_ familiar that they could pretend would pass soon. But that still was worrying. The last time America caught a cold, it spread to all the other nations. If there was something like that going on again, England was determined to get a head's up on the matter.

In the weeks that followed, England devoted all of his free time to studying America. He read up on his current economy, the state of his politics, hell, even what media was most prominent. There had to be something to go off of, that would account for America being so strange and distant.

Through all of his searching though, England only found one thing - in at least ten different cities in America, there were reports of American citizens harassing or attacking people of Chinese descent. None of the hostile citizens showed any signs of xenophobia or dislike of Asian people prior to these incidents, and all of the Chinese people attacked had been living peacefully in the various areas for years. There was nothing to suggest that it was the result of an organized group or movement, but the media was having a field day, proposing ridiculous theories like viruses that turned victims racist.

England rolled his eyes at those sorts of theories, but was equally baffled by this discovery. A change in the people's attitude toward China might account for America's behavior, but America had been welcoming China's people into his home for years. Why would his people suddenly become hostile to them now? Unless…

It went both ways. Nations were influenced by the thoughts and actions of their people, but it could work the other way around. If a nation began to feel hostile or frustrated towards another, their people would react accordingly. If America himself was angry at China, it would cause his people to be hostile towards China's. But that still left the question of _why_. America had brought up no reasons for this, beyond a vague perceived injustice.

So England at least had an idea as to what was going on. But he still had no answers. He didn't even have a clue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

England vowed that he would find out at the next World Conference exactly what was going on with America. If necessary, he would take the idiot by the throat and beat him until he gave answers.

There was one minor flaw to this plan. America did not show up at the next World Meeting.

China was there, looking slightly relieved that the western nation wasn't there to harass him. In fact, nearly all of the nations were present, for a change. America was the only one absent.

This troubled England. America would not quietly miss a World Meeting. Oh, he might agree to stay at home, if he was feeling poorly enough. But he would not let his absence go unnoticed. The last time he missed a meeting, he sent half a dozen e-mails to every nation, bemoaning how they would be missing their hero, and that he would be faxing his information on trading and natural resources to them all so they didn't miss out.

When Germany announced that it was time for a break, England sought out Canada. It took a fair bit of time, but he finally managed to notice the lad, who was standing in plain sight with that polar bear of his.

"No, I haven't heard anything from America," said Canada, worriedly shifting Kumajiro in his arms. "We actually don't talk all that much, though. He kind of tends to forget about me too…"

"I see." Troubling. How were they going to deal with this?

"Hey, um, England?"

England started, realizing that Canada had been tugging on his sleeve. "Oh, Canada! How long were you - erm, I mean what is it?"

"I live right next door to America, you know. If you'd like, I could stop in and check on him, after the meeting."

"I say, that sounds brilliant!" said England. "If you find out anything, let me know and -"

"Ah, _Angelterre_, you 'ave finally gone completely insane?" asked France, who had been watching England with some interest.

"Excuse me, Frog?"

"First sign of madness, _mon ami_, is talking to thin air."

"I am not talking to 'thin air'! I'm talking to Canada."

France smirked. "If you say so," he replied, heading off to get some wine. Or to take compromising pictures of some other nation. Whichever.

"Really, the nerve of that Frog!" snarled England, turning back to his previous conversation. "I say, Canada, have you ever seen such - where did you go? Canada? Canada?"

There was no response, so England assumed the boy had wandered off while he wasn't paying attention.

"Um, England? I'm still here," said Canada, as his big brother stormed off.

"Who're you?" asked the polar bear.

"I'm Canada!"

* * *

Like England, Canada tried reaching America via several text messages before heading over to his place. Like England, he received no response. It wasn't the first time that Canada's attempts to contact someone went unnoticed, but after the rest of America's strange behavior, Canada was understanding why England was so worried.

America had a few houses throughout his land, which he cycled through whenever he felt the need for a change in scenery. Some weeks back, America had been talking about how he had moved to a house he kept in the lush, wooded region of Washington (the state, not the District of Columbia. America only stayed _there_ when it was election year or his boss forced him to).

Canada pulled up to this house, feeling very nervous. America was like a huge puppy whenever anyone came to visit. Canada couldn't think of a time when his brother didn't greet guests by running out of the door and tackle-hugging them. Even if the visitors were unexpected, he somehow knew they were on their way.

"Mr. Kumaharu, I don't have a good feeling about this," he murmured.

"Who are you?" asked his bear, whose real name was Kumajiro.

Canada signed as he parked the car and got out. Polar bear following after, he went up to the front door and began knocking.

"America?" he shouted, when there was no response. "Alfred? Are you there? Hello? It's me! I'm...Canada..."

"No one's home," commented Kumajiro, lazily sniffing some hanging plants that must have been a gift from England.

"That's weird, he usually leaves some means of contacting him." Usually a means to let missed callers know how awesome he was, but also for his boss to get in touch with him. "Maybe he's in the back of the house, and just can't hear me?"

"Who are you?"

"..."

As he walked around the house, Canada felt his pocket buzz. He pulled out his cell phone to see who was texting him.

_HEY CANADA! HOW ARE YOU? YOUR JACKASS BROTHER ISN'T BOTHERING YOU, IS HE?_

Ah. It was from Cuba.

He texted back:

_I'M FINE. AMERICA IS NOT BOTHERING ME. IN FACT, I'M LOOKING FOR HIM RIGHT NOW._

Cuba's reply buzzed back:

_WHY THE HELL YOU WANT TO DO THAT? I'M IN YOUR AREA. COME GET ICE CREAM WITH ME!_

Canada responded:

_SORRY, I REALLY NEED TO DO THIS. GET ICE CREAM AFTER?_

And Cuba's disgruntled reply:

_FINE. MEET YOU ON THE ROAD BY YOUR IDIOT BROTHER'S HOUSE. EVEN PULLING INTO HIS DRIVEWAY MAKES ME SICK!_

Canada gave a small smile. Yes, that was Cuba. He didn't like that his best friend and brother hated each other so much, but he did understand how America could grate on the nerves.

Speaking of America, he still was nowhere to be seen. Canada scanned the backyard, noting that it led directly into a forest. Had America gone for a walk? He decided to call his brother's cell phone and find out.

He punched in the numbers and let it ring. No texting this time. Even if it was the voicebox recording, he wanted to hear his brother's voice.

As the phone began to ring, Canada noticed a muted sound in the area. It sounded uncannily like "America the Beautiful"...

Kumajiro trotted over to the back porch steps and began to nose around. "Look at this!" he called, using his paw to knock something into view. Something small and shiny and rectangular.

"Okay," said Canada, as he hung up his phone and picked the object up. "America has gone off somewhere without his cell phone."

America went somewhere without his boss being able to contact him. Without being able to call up his friends and family and tell them of how awesome he is. Without being able to pass the time playing Angry Birds.

This made no sense.

As Canada examined the phone, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He whirled around, nearly screaming. Was it a wild animal? A bear? Yes, he had Komajiro with him, but a toy-like polar bear wouldn't really help against a full-grown... America?

Canada stared. Yes, that was his brother, walking out of the woods. It was as he thought. America had gone for a leisurely stroll that was all!

Except that his clothes were wrinkled and torn, as if he'd gone hiking with his eyes closed. And they were clearly the same business attire that he'd worn to the last World Meeting. America, who was notorious for disliking formal dress, went for a walk in the woods with what was once a nice suit and a fancy jacket.

Canada ran to him and grabbed America by the shoulders. "America, what happened?" he gasped. "I was trying to call you, but you didn't have your phone! And I couldn't find you in the house, and you went out wearing _that_, and England has been really worried and quite frankly so have I, and -"

He cut off his babbling as he really _looked_ at America. His brother was flushed, with sweat glistening on his forehead and neck. Bringing his fingers to America's neck, Canada could feel the nation's pulse pounding madly. America's skin was also strangely warm. Canada tried not to panic.

He tried to convince himself that these things were just the result of a long walk, but he couldn't. There were other things. Like the fact that America's pupils were dilated. Or the _wrongness_ of his behavior. America was wild, energetic, and happy. A hike that raised the pulse and temperature that much should have had the guy jumping for the moon. Instead, he was acting like something out of a Romero movie. There was no life in him. There wasn't _anything_.

"America?" whispered Canada, taking his brother's hands. "Alfred? Are you alright?"

America grinned, which should have reassured Canada, but just creeped him out. "Don't worry," America said, his voice as flat as a phone recording. His eyes weren't fixed on Canada. In fact, there was nothing to suggest he was registering Canada at all. "All is well!"

* * *

He didn't get what was bothering Canada so much, he really didn't. Everything was dark and silent, all was well. Sure the world was multi-colored, but who cared? He felt _great_! After all, it was all him and his own and his boss (the other, not the first) and pins and needles... needles...

God.

They were here! They would be here! They would find him and Canada, what was Canada doing here? He came but he shouldn't have come!

Canada, who was mouthing something and looking upset, but not as upset as he should!

Canada, who probably was being followed by someone - by the other, by China, by the shapes - who wanted him, to burn him!

America clenched his hands and felt his fingernails dig into something soft. Might have been his hands, but he felt no pain. Such a change! He felt so _much_ pain lately! Canada seemed to be whimpering and mouthing more things, but it didn't matter. He was off to sleep - sleep at last - and Canada was putting his arms around him. It felt so nice, he hadn't be _held_, held in a good way, for so long!

Ah, the forest was melting into an office and America's mind was melting into his head. The other was there and the cup and everything was in place. Things were making sense for a bit, so he had to be dreaming. Was he? _Was he_?

He tried to focus on what his brother was saying, but Canada's words were pretty garbled. It was something upsetting him, clearly. But what?

America sighed and flopped down on the porch steps. They were much cushier than he remembered, and appeared to be nicely upholstered. The backyard was apparently air conditioned, which was very pleasant. America leaned back and smiled at Canada. The northern nation seemed much calmer now. His hair was shorter and darker with no curl, and his glasses were missing. Something was telling America to be curious about this, but he couldn't figure out what. Perhaps it was Canada's name...

"Mr. Jones, what I am about to disclose to you is of the utmost secrecy. Should you choose to assist us, it is vital that you never let word of this leak out to the American public."

America stared at the man staring in front of him. _That_ was what was so odd! It wasn't his brother at all! It was the head of the Central Intelligence Agency, and it had been so long since the head of the CIA disclosed anything to him. No wonder he was confused! "What, are we keeping my boss out of the loop?" he asked.

"On the contrary. Your boss desperately needs what we're working towards."

"Then why not ask _him_ for help? I thought you guys didn't trust me, after that Woodward and Bernstein thing."

The CIA head winced, before handing America a cup of coffee. "That's in the past, Mr. Jones. Right now, we need you. Will you help us out? Will you perform this service for the good of your people?"

This man was not his boss and thus could not force him into anything. But he certainly knew exactly what to say to get America interested.

"For the good of my people?" America repeated, his ears perking up. "Of course I'll help out! I'm the hero, aren't I?"

"You certainly are," said the head of the CIA, smiling widely. "On behalf of my people, I thank you for this. Just wait at your house, tomorrow. Some of my men will be by to pick you up and brief you on the project."

America grinned and took a sip of the coffee. That was the last moment he remembered being remotely lucid.

* * *

Canada had to all but drag America into the house. His brother had been having some sort of fit on the porch steps, babbling and grinning and cupping his hands to his mouth like he was drinking something. Now, America was twitching and whimpering and digging his nails so deeply into Canada's hands that the northern nation was surprised that no blood was being drawn.

"Maple...America...what is wrong with you?" gasped Canada, as he shoved the struggling nation inside and began to maneuver him towards the bedroom.

If America registered Canada's words at all, he gave no sign of it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

He had a mental breakdown. That had to be it. America had had a mental breakdown, and Canada was rapidly heading that way himself. By now, Canada was convinced that was what had happened. America's all-hamburger diet had caught up with him and clogged his brain from the cholesterol or his addiction to Japan's video games had turned him into a vegetable or he walked in on France trying to molest England and his brain committed suicide. Something like that. It had to be.

America was now sitting on his bed, staring at the wall with the most unnerving grin ever on his face. If America had shown any capability or inclination to get a weapon, Canada was sure things would move into slasher territory. As it was, the southern nation was sitting like a life-sized, very realistic doll. A doll that was blinking and breathing and not more than a month ago was an over-excited, happy nation with feelings and thoughts and people he cared about.

Canada was on his cell phone, waiting for England to pick up. He'd done what he promised and checked on America. England was the older brother. England was the one who'd been around for centuries and could talk to fairies. _He_ could figure out what was wrong with America. He could fix this. He _had_ to!

"I say, this is England!"

"England," Canada began, before he was cut off.

"I'm not available right now, but if you would be so kind as to leave your name and number, I will call back as soon as possible. If you are France, trying to prank call me, kindly piss off. Good day!"

Of course he'd get voice mail. Canada waited for the _beep_, trying to figure out how best to summarize the situation. "Hello, England?" he said, upon hearing the tone. "This is Canada. If you don't remember, I'm America's brother, who lives north of him and who you got off of France and raised as a second younger brother. Anyway, you asked me to check on America, so I did. You really should get over here though, because I think America's sick. He's all tired and not making any sense and I don't know what to do about this!"

"Hey, Can'da, who're 'ya talkin' to?"

"Oh Maple," muttered Canada under his breath, as America's voice warbled down the hall. "I have to go now," he continued to England's voice mail.

"Ya' talkin' ta _China_? Or _him_?"

"Please hurry and get over here as quickly as possible!" Canada said, as America screamed "_CHINA_?"

"For God's sake!" said Canada, running into America's bedroom to find his brother flailing on the bed. "I was talking to England! He's very worried about you, you know? Here, stop thrashing around! Maple! What is your obsession with China, any - calm down!"

Upon reflection, Canada admitted he should have known better. There were no answers from America. Instead, he just began to get himself even more tangled in the bedsheets than he already was, gasping out more nonsense about the vaguely evil things China was up to.

At his wit's end, Canada glanced at America's bedside table. His eyes fell on a small, white bottle, which had a Post-It note stuck to it. America was on medication? He snatched it up and peered at the attached note. It was not written in America's handwriting:

_Remember, take two before going to bed in the evening!_

Upon further inspection, Canada saw that the bottle was roughly half-full of sleeping pills. Carefully, he tipped the bottle to knock two into his hand. He offered them to America, along with a glass of water from the bathroom, and the southern nation calmed down enough to open his mouth. As Canada watched his brother swallow the pills without protest, he hoped this would give him some peace.

"There now!" said Canada, trying to keep his voice light and cheerful. "Doesn't that feel better? Let me take off that jacket. It's got to be way too warm for that, right?"

He unbuttoned the formal jacket and slipped it off of America's shoulders. America tried what could have been an attempt to slap his brother's hands away, but the sleeping pills were kicking in fast and he lacked the strength for much more than staring into space.

Unimpeded, Canada slipped the jacket off completely. "You see? That has to be more comfortable! Now, how about we get you a different shirt, eh? I don't think this is something you'd like to sleep - "

And then, he saw the sleeves of America's shirt.

His sentence and any hope of trying to treat the situation as natural withered and died.

They were small. There weren't very many, and they were only on the right sleeve.

They were tiny splotches of blood, like droplets from a pinprick. Or a half a dozen pinpricks.

"...Maple leaf," whispered Canada, his eyes wide. "America, what is this?"

Unfortunately, America was practically asleep sitting up. Of course, given how incoherent he had been before taking the pills, Canada knew there was little hope for an answer even if America _was_ conscious.

Fine. Time to take matters into his own hands. This was something he could find out himself.

Hands shaking slightly, Canada began to unbutton America's shirt. For the first time, he was glad that America was too out-of-it to notice what was going on. The last thing needed was for the next century or so of World Meetings to be filled with jokes about how Canada was so eager to get his brother out of his shirt.

America offered no resistance as his shirt was pulled off and his arms were pulled from his sides for examination. He said not a word as Canada examined the irritated skin on his forearms.

It looked like someone had shoved needles into America's arms and, judging by how inflamed that area was, they had done it a good many times. That explained the spots of blood. But who did this? And why? Was America sick? Was that why he was acting so strangely? But nations didn't get sick unless something was going on with their country, so what was it?

Pondering all of this, Canada continued to examine America's arms. His wrists had been rubbed raw by something. The skin was peeling and there were traces of dried blood. Canada gently turned his brother's hands so he could see the wrists from every angle. It was the same all the way around.

"America...Alfred...what has been going on with you?" But there was no answer. America wouldn't tell England, he hadn't told Canada, and now, he was asleep sitting up and couldn't tell anyone anything.

With a sigh, Canada gently eased his brother back against the pillows. He then set off for the bathroom. Answers or no, something had to be done about America's wrists. Canada would fix _something_ today.

* * *

_There were purple elephants dancing on the walls, and America was pretty sure his shoes were trying to eat his feet. He stumbled, trying to cling to the wall for support._

"_Mr. Jones, let me help you with that," said a voice that America was starting to hate._

_America glared at the doctor, trying to ignore the multi-colored fireflies dancing in front of him. "Don't touch me! I'm fine!"_

_The doctor smiled condescendingly, and America shuddered. He'd seen that smile so many times since the CIA agents had picked him up yesterday (or was it last week? Or fifty years ago?). "You're not fine right now, Mr. Jones," said the doctor. "There is no need to hide it. You're among friends!"_

"_If you're my friend, you'd let me go home!" spat America, leaning against the wall. His wrists were still sore from where they…he couldn't quite remember. But they were really raw. And there were these tiny pinpricks all over his right arm and it itched so badly and he didn't want to know what that all was from._

"_We will let you go home, Mr. Jones. We just need to finish today's procedure first. You should know this. It's exactly the same as the other days you've come in for treatment."_

_He'd been in there before? He sort of remembered that. Kind of. Not a lot. He shook his head. This was not right. There should be some grounds to protest this, but he couldn't think of it._

"_Come now, Mr. Jones. Let's get you back to finish the treatment." The doctor smiled and took America's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "The sooner we are done here, the sooner you can go home and rest, hmm?"_

_America began to shake, hating being touched but unable to pull himself free. It shouldn't be so hard. He threw buffalo around as a kid. That was easy. This though…he couldn't focus. Couldn't get coordinated._

_He glared as the doctor began to lead him back to a room that America couldn't quite remember, but knew scared him. "What…are you _doing_ to me?" he gasped out._

_The doctor sighed, as if the question was the most trying thing in the world. "We have told you multiple times, Mr. Jones. You have been under quite a lot of stress, as of late. You were particularly concerned about the status of your economy, don't you remember? But thanks to these new treatments, you will be better in no time. We just need to get all of those stressful thoughts out of your mind, that's all."_

_It took America several minutes to even remember that he had an economy. He was sure something was off, but he couldn't think of what. All he knew was that he was being pushed to lie on a bed, and there was a pressure on his wrists, and he couldn't move his arms or legs, and the doctors were doing something just out of his eyesight, and a mechanical voice was saying _America all is well America all is well America all is well…

* * *

Canada set the bottle of peroxide and bandages on the bedside table and watched his brother twitching in his sleep. America was frowning and, every so often, muttering "All is well."

It was disturbing to see the normally-cheerful country so distressed, even while asleep. Canada wondered if his brother had some sort of sleep disorder. Maybe _that_ was the cause of the strange behavior. He'd never heard of a nation succumbing to such a thing without a political cause before, but it wasn't impossible. And the bloody spots on his sleeve? The pinpricks on his arm? Those could be... representing the drug abusers among his people? The war to legalize something? Maybe?

"Oh Kumajaru, what am I going to do?" Canada sighed, leaning against the wall.

"Who are you?" was the only response. The polar bear had climbed on to the swivel chair set up in front of America's computer, and was batting at the mouse.

"Kumermiro stop that!" said Canada severely (or as severely as he was capable of). "You might break something."

"Hmm," said the bear, swatting at the mouse one more time. "Who are you, again?"

Canada sighed and went to move his bear away from the computer. He glanced at the screen and paused. The polar bear had awakened the computer from standby, and he could see the last screen America had been on. It was his e-mail.

Canada's first thought was to just grab Kumajiro and leave, without being incredibly rude and reading America's e-mail. But a word caught his eye on, and he couldn't help but look.

China.

The screen had a message that America had been in the process of writing. It was rambling, full of spelling errors and run-ons. Canada frowned. His brother was hardly the most literate of nations, but his grasp of the English language was certainly better than that. The content of the message was one long rant about China - how the nation was up to something suspicious, how he was dangerous to be around, and how America was advising his boss to cut all ties with China.

That…made no sense at all. America had very strong economic ties to China. For him to propose that his boss just sever them all…what would cause that? Against his better judgment, Canada saved the message and looked at the other e-mails in the inbox.

He started as early as possible, moving towards the present. The messages start out innocently enough. They were about China, yes, but mostly it was America's boss talking about some sort of trade regulations. America's responses weren't the most intelligent things, but they were good-natured enough, and bore no hostility towards China. From the way things looked, America was a bit concerned what certain changes in trade management with China would have on his economy.

When Canada reached the messages from about three weeks back, things started to get weird. Weirder. There was a noticeable difference in America's correspondences with his boss. His sentences were disjointed, jumping from one topic to another. America's boss had responded with concern, which was understandable. He also warned America to be at his best for the next World Meeting. He had to be careful with China, the message said, or else the current trade policies they were working towards might fall flat.

Canada stared. Was _that_ what was causing his brother to be so suspicious towards China? But that still made no sense! It was a warning yes, but it didn't suggest that the eastern nation was a danger. It was the usual warning to not be tactless, which America forgot about nine times out of ten. How could America possibly get from that that China was up to something sinister?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Canada's first thought was _America was having guests? In his condition_? But that seemed unlikely. Anyone America would have invited over would have been incapable of staying so quiet for this amount of time.

He stepped out of his brother's bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him...

* * *

Kumajiro was still sitting under America's computer desk when Canada left the room. Such was his curse, that he was as forgettable to his master as the northern nation was to him. Still, he was used to such things and knew that Canada would remember to look for him eventually. He wasn't bothered in the slightest.

At least not until he heard his owner screaming "MAPLE!" and, judging by the sound of things, running for his life.

The bear was on his feet and heading for the door, but whatever was going on outside was moving fast. Someone else was out there with Canada, but that was all Kumajiro could figure out. There was another scream, a door slamming, and the bear was clawing away at the door, unable to reach the knob and unable to break the thing down.

_BAM_! _BAM_! _BAM_!

No use. The door wouldn't give.

_BAM_! _BAM_! _BAM_!

Was he too late? How much time had passed?

The little polar bear dug his claws into the door. "Who?" he cried out desperately. "_Who_?"

There were footstep outside, along with the sound of heavy breathing. Was it Canada? Canada's attacker? Had this person carried off Canada, hence the panting?

He would find out. If it was his owner, no harm was done. If it was the attacker, he would bite their leg until answers were had. "Who?" he called again, redoubling his attack on the door. "Who? _Canada_?"

The door swung open. It was not Canada.

"Aiya!" said China. "Just what have you done to this door, hmm?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Curled up in some dark place, Canada fought to a conscious state. He was leaning against a wall, his cheek sticking to something smooth and plastic. Pressure was across his chest and lap. Some sort of bonds were holding him down. Not tight, just…there. He probably could have moved more, if he wanted to. But he was so tired!

He could feel it - he was moving along at a constant speed. There were a lot of bumps, but they were still going. So he was in a car. Why?

He closed his eyes to shut everything out, even though he knew it was dangerous, he knew he would sleep again. He had to remember something. _Anything_!

There was the door in America's kitchen, which would lead out to the side of the house. He had been looking at that as he…as he ran…

There was the tiled kitchen floor. He had been forced to stare at it as he was thrown down and shot up with…something.

And it was hazy and black and white but with such colors and he screamed but there was no one, no one. There was a car outside and it was black (or was it white?) and the door was opening and he was screaming and screaming some more because if he went in, he may never come back.

But no one was there.

And in that car, he began to drift back into unconsciousness.

_So peaceful_.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he shouldn't.

_Let it go_.

If he slept, he could miss his chance to escape.

_Good night, darling_.

But then, it already looked too late for that.

* * *

It had taken several hours, a few phone calls, and having to sneak by France (who was trying to catch him on the doorstep, _again_) but England finally managed to get out of his meetings and jobs for the day. He had boarded a private jet and made it to America's place as quickly as possible. He felt a little guilty for yelling at the pilot to step on it and stop questioning if it _really_ was such an emergency, but England really didn't see that he had a choice to do that.

His little brothers needed help, and he'd be damned if he didn't hurry.

Not an emergency, his foot!

He was more than a little worried as he pulled his rental car up America's driveway. He had tried to contact Canada several times since landing, and was only getting his voicemail. So not only was England scared out of his mind over whatever was wrong with America, now he had all sorts of horrible images of Canada ending up the same. By the time he reached America's house, he was completely panicked.

"Canada?" he called, trying to keep his voice steady as he pounded on the door. "Canada, are you there? Is America there? Please, open the door!"

The door began to swing open, and England let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the lord almighty!" he said, but stopped when he saw who actually opened the door.

"If you could be a little quieter, please!" hissed China, frantically motioning for England to lower his voice. "I only just got everyone settled, aru!"

"You!" cried England. "You - China - you -!"

"Yes, I am China, aru!" he replied, irritably. "And what did I say about being noisy? Do you want to turn this place into a madhouse?"

England was beginning to wonder if it wasn't a madhouse already. "Alright," he said, keeping his voice low, "I'm here to see Canada and America. They are here, aren't they?"

"America is, aru. He's asleep, though. Canada is not here."

"That's impossible. I just got a message from him, asking me to come here."

"Well, he is not here now," said China, stepping back inside the house and motioning for England to follow. "There are two nations and a very worked-up bear, aru, but Canada is absent."

England was about to ask for clarification on the "two nations and a very worked-up bear" part, but they reached the living room and his mind began to juggle more pressing questions.

Like why Cuba, whose hatred of America was possibly only rivaled by a Cold War-era Russia, was sleeping peacefully on the sofa.

"He was like that when I came in," said China, before England could say a word. "Asleep that is. When I arrived, he was actually lying on the front walkway, aru. I thought he would be more comfortable on the sofa, so I put him there." The Chinese man rubbed his back and winced at the memory. "I wish he was not so fond of ice cream, aru."

"Right" said England. He _would_ make sense of this all, by God, or Britannia never ruled the waves. "Right. Who else did you say was here?"

"This way, aru," said China, leading England upstairs.

They stopped in front of a closed door by the landing. "Please, be _very_ quiet!" China whispered urgently. "He has been so worked up, I think this sleep is doing him some good."

The room was definitely America's bedroom. Even if it had been decades since England had visited this particular home of America's he knew. Somehow, posters for Michael Bay movies and piles _Avengers_ comics seemed a bit much for a guest's room, even by America's standards.

There was a lump on the bed. It was covered in blankets, so it was impossible to see much of it from the doorway. Even so, England knew.

As he crossed the floor, he murmured thanks to Canada for whatever he did to calm America down so well. This was the calmest he'd seen his younger brother since the strange behavior had begun.

As gently as possible, England pulled down the sheets until some of America was visible. The boy's glasses were off, set safely on the bedside table, and America looked frighteningly young and vulnerable without them. His face was screwed up and twitching in his sleep, and England wondered what he was dreaming of.

"Oh lad," England whispered, shifting the covers back the way they were. As he stepped back, he noticed a white bottle next to the glasses. He read the Post-It note, just as Canada had done before him, and took the bottle with him.

"He was like that when I came in," said China, after England left the room. "I was not about to wake him up after how stressed out he has been, aru."

"He's had some sleeping pills, by the looks of things" said England, examining the bottle. "Not sure exactly the brand, but they seem to be working very well."

Odd. He was not aware that America was having problems with sleeping. It was not an uncommon side-effect that Their Kind experienced to reflect issues (usually civil unrest or the like), but America had always been a pretty heavy sleeper.

Setting down the bottle, England sighed. "What else was there I should know about?"

This question was answered with a growl and the sound of clawing against a door down the hall.

"Ah yes, aru!" said China. "There was a little, white polar bear, aru! It was very upset, so I left it in the bathroom until it calmed down. Come this way, aru!"

"You locked Kumajiro in the bathroom?" asked England numbly, following China down the hall. He wasn't sure why he was still being shocked by everything, but oh well. He supposed he should be grateful China simply locked it in the bathroom instead of eating it. The man's philosophy was, after all, "If it has four legs and isn't a table, it's food!"

"Is that the bear's name?" asked China.

"He's the only small polar bear I can think who would be around here. Does he say 'Who?' all the time?"

China frowned. "Not that I heard, aru. Mostly he called out 'Canada! Canada!'"

"But he does talk?"

"Yes."

"Then he is Kumajiro." Unless, God forbid, a second talking polar bear somehow wandered onto the premises. By this point, it would likely be the _least_ far-fetched thing to have happened since his arrival.

But no, when China opened the bathroom door, the polar bear that tumbled out was decidedly Canada's pet. And it was more worked-up than England had ever seen it before.

"England!" he said, knocking his head into England's legs like some over-excited dog. "Someone took Canada! Help!"

That was the most England had ever heard him speak at any one given time. "Who took Canada? What happened?"

"Loud screams," said Kumajiro. "And then _he_ -" the bear waved a paw at China "-showed up right after!"

"Aiya!" said China, as England rounded on him. "Why are you looking at me so suspiciously, aru?"

"You just _happened_ to get here after Canada was kidnapped, did you?" asked England, trying so very hard to keep his voice pleasant.

"I did, aru."

"And you just _happened_ to find his best friend knocked out on the porch and his very protective brother heavily drugged and his pet bear locked in the bathroom?"

"Well, I locked the bear in the bathroom myself, aru. Other than that, yes I did."

"All of this after America takes it to his head that you had it out for him?"

"I have no idea what that's about, aru! And what does that have to do with Canada going missing?"

"Oh, nothing much." England fixed China with a steely gaze. "He just looks an awful lot like America, that's all."

"You can not be serious!"

"It would not be the first time poor Canada has been attacked by someone who had it out for America."

"I am not taking this, aru!" snapped China. "Talk to me when you are rational!"

He turned on his heel and marched out of the bathroom. Unfortunately, his dramatic exit was abruptly ended as one very anxious polar bear shot around England and grabbed the Asian nation by the leg.

There was a scream of "AIYA!" and a crash as China found himself with an excellent view of the hall carpet. Before he could get up and try to salvage any remaining dignity, Kumajiro crawled onto the nation's back and began sniffing his hair.

"What is it now," China growled, not even bothering to lift his face from the floor.

Kumajiro's eyes were closed and his nose was twitching so very slightly, not unlike France sampling a fine wine or America enjoying a well-made hamburger. Finally, the bear sat back. "Don't think it was him," he announced. "Can't smell Canada."

"Not China?" England sank down on the bathroom floor, feeling as if someone had pulled a plug in his chest, leaving him drained of all emotion. As much as he didn't want to think China would kidnap Canada, at least if that were the case, the nation was right there and could be forced to give answers if necessary. But now… "We… still don't know who took him?"

"I suppose not, aru!" said China, irritably. "Now, will you get this animal off of me?"

Kumajiro huffed and hopped off of China's back. He went over to where England was sitting and laid his head in the nation's lap. "It'll be okay," he said, causing England to smile slightly and stroke the soft fur on his neck.

In the doorway, China struggled to his feet. "I am getting too old for these shenanigans, aru," he grumbled, staggering over to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

"What were you doing here to begin with?" asked England, rubbing Kumajiro behind the ears.

"I wanted to meet with America," China replied. "He was so angry with me at our last World Meeting, I wanted to know what I did to upset him, aru! Our bosses have been discussing issues, and the last thing I would want is to have unknowingly offended him."

"Well, I'm afraid I can't be of much help there," sighed England. "That boy's mind is a true enigma, now more than ever. I don't think anyone can figure out the world of logic in America's head."

Kumajiro sat up suddenly. "America!" he said, as if he only just remembered the nation existed. "He might know!"

"Pardon?" asked England.

The little bear had already jumped off of his lap and was scrambling out of the bathroom, though. Like a shot, he ran down the hall and to America's bedroom.

"No, aru! Bad bear!" called China. "Let him rest! Aiya!"

Kumajiro showed the Asian nation all the attention he usually gave to his owner. He nosed his way into the bedroom (England cursed himself for not latching the door properly) and leaped onto the bed.

China and England were on pins and needles as they saw Kumajiro butt his head against America's shoulder and lick the nation's face.

"Wake up!" Kumajiro said, between licks. "Canada needs you!"

The lump that was America gave a groan and began to shift. He sat up zombie-like, and England and China braced themselves for an onslaught of incoherent cursing and violent accusations.

But they never came.

America stared blearily at the polar bear, which was still licking his face. "Kumajiro?" he murmured. "What're you doing here? Where's Canada?"

"That's what we all are wondering," said England, before he could stop himself.

America turned to the doorway, noticing the two nations for the first time. He didn't scream. He didn't swear. His eyes were wide and confused, like a child lost in the mall. The look of distress was just so wrong on America's face, and England wondered, with a horrible feeling in his stomach, exactly how much his little brother could remember.

"England? How long have you been here?"

God, he sounded so drained! "Not very long," said England, cautiously approaching the bed.

"Oh." America gingerly sat up, leaning against the headboard. "That's good. I was afraid I fell asleep while you were visiting."

"Nothing of the sort," replied England. "America, I need you to tell me what you can remember. America? America?"

America's eyes slid past his older brother, and England knew that it had happened. He had seen China, standing silently in the doorway.

His breath hitched and he pushed himself against the headboard, as if such a miniscule distance would protect him if China were to leap forward and attack. "He's…China, y-you're here too?"

"Obviously, aru," said China, his voice surprisingly gentle.

England gently turned America's face until the nation was looking at him. "America, China came to see how you are doing," he said. "He's very worried about you. We both are." England paused to see if this caused anything to register with America. No luck. America's expression remained confused and panicked. "You've been acting…odd," England continued. "Perhaps you've been ill? Canada came to check on you as well, and asked me to check on you."

"I don't know," said America, sounding close to tears. "I really _don't know_! I can't remember anything, there's this huge blank stretch, and I keep having these crazy dreams and my arms won't stop hurting and I _hear_ things and I just don't…I don't…"

As America trailed off and choked, England gently put his arms around him. He felt something wet where America's face was pressed into his neck, and gently began to rub the younger nation's back. America hadn't cried since he was a child and would cling to his older brother, having no idea that the pains and terrors he was experiencing were all a part of him being a Nation and feeling what his people felt. Looking at him now, England could tell that the poor boy was just as confused, if not moreso. He now had several centuries of representing a country under his belt, and now this was happening to him. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural. It simply wasn't the usual side effects of being a national personification. No, someone was doing something to America the person, Alfred F. Jones, not America the nation.

When England found out who it was, he was going to _kill_ them.

China shifted uncomfortably and left, muttering something about checking on Cuba, leaving England and America alone and completely silent for some time. After what seemed like hours but was likely closer to minutes, England let go of America and watched his brother carefully. He seemed much calmer, though he still looked plenty confused.

"America," said England, softly. "I really need you to try and remember something for me. Canada was here a few hours ago to look after you, and now we can't find him. Kumajiro thinks that someone kidnapped him. Can you think of anyone who might have come into your house, who would have had a reason to want to kidnap you or your brother? Anyone at all?"

America was silent and for a moment, England despaired of getting any sort of an answer. Finally, "I…there was some people I think was supposed to be by. But it can't be them. They would never take Canada. Why would they?"

"Who?" asked England, feeling as if he were channeling Kumajiro. "Who would these people be?"

America opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off from a scream in the living room.

"ALRIGHT AMERICA, YOU HAMBURGER-GUZZLING CAPITALIST BASTARD! WHY THE HELL AM I IN YOUR HOUSE, HUH?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was dark and he was scared.

The last he'd seen of the light, it had been peeking through the trees, swirling around him all brown and green and huge.

But that had only been for a moment, between when they dragged him out of the car and when they got him into _there_.

He didn't know where _there_ was. They assured him that everything would be fine once they got him _there_. That he had been _there_ before. That once they were finished with whatever they had planned for him _there_, he could go home.

They also kept calling him "Mr. Jones".

He wanted to shout at them, tell them that it wasn't his name. He was Matthew Williams, the nation of Canada. He only looked like America, they weren't the same at all!

But whatever they shot him up with when they tackled him in America's kitchen was really strong. One needle prick and he couldn't kick, couldn't bite, couldn't scream, couldn't run.

Almost couldn't think.

And so they carried him in, ignoring his little twitches and whimpers. And it was cool and it was dark and they took him through room after room and he still couldn't move.

Now he was lying on a hospital bed and he still couldn't move. He was falling backwards, staring up at the cold, cold, ceiling. Dark shapes were around him, leaning over his face like demons or doctors, he wasn't sure which. They had surgical masks that looked likes smiles and when they touched his skin, their hands were smooth and cool and like plastic.

They took off his glasses, making fuzzy promises that they'd be nearby for when he was done.

They took off his shirt, leaving his skin to shiver.

His arms feel weightless, and he realizes that they have taken his hands in theirs. There is a slight pressure on his wrists, which becomes tighter when he flexes them ever so slightly. The same thing happens to his ankles. They promise him that it's for his own good, these _restraints_, and that it's just so he won't hurt himself. But why? He still can't move.

He was breathing faster. Faster. _Faster_. His fingers were twitching. He wanted to cry, but there were only little gasps.

Around his head, out of the corners of his eyes, he could see the dark shapes moving. They were mechanical and efficient, moving things this way and that. One was wheeling something towards him, and an arm stretched over his head. An arm with something like a cord or tube trailing with it.

By the time he realized, it was too late. He managed a "No!" so weak and dusty, but there was already a pinch and a pain in his arm.

No.

World was slipping away.

Had to hold on.

Back of his mind, he felt headphones clamped over his ears. That too faded, and it was like those plastic cups were another part of his head.

Somewhere in the room, in the world, there was a click.

_America, all is well_.

His limbs were heavy. His eyelids wouldn't stay open. His mouth could be hanging open, but he couldn't be sure.

_America, all is well_.

Who is speaking? He can't tell. They're in his head, and won't come out. But they're wrong, wrong, wrong.

_America, all is well_.

He is Canada!

_America, all is well_.

He is CANADA!

_America, all is well_.

He is... who?

_America, all is well_.

He is America? No? He is...?

It all goes dark, and he is nothing.

* * *

"This is kidnapping! I'm gonna tell my boss about this, 'ya bastard, see if I don't! Let me up, China, I'm gonna kill him!"

Cuba had yet to sit up from America's sofa, but it was not for lack of trying. China was pressing down on his shoulders, using every bit of his four thousand years of strength, and it was all he could do to keep him there. Such was Cuba's desire to get up and rip his rival a new one.

"You will remain where you are, sir," said England. He had positioned himself between Cuba and America (who was collapsed in a chair) in case China was unable to restrain the angry island nation. "No one is killing anyone, at least until we figure out what happened."

Behind him, England heard America mumble something that sounded sarcastic. He had hardly reacted to finding out that a nation he dubbed "the cigar-smoking Commie" was in his living room, nor had he responded to the increasingly colorful threats Cuba had been spouting since he came to.

"Right," said England, when Cuba paused in his ranting to catch his breath. "Let us get our stories sorted out and start from the beginning. Cuba, what do you remember happening when you showed up here?"

"Eh? I…um…that's kind of fuzzy," said Cuba, rubbing his head. "I think someone gave me a good whack on the noggin."

England resisted the urge to beat his own head against the nearest wall. Fantastic. America couldn't remember anything, China came to late to see anything, Kumajiro missed the kidnapping, and now Cuba couldn't remember. Five parties involved and they _still_ weren't going to be able to figure out what happened! "Let's start slowly then," he said, fighting to keep his eye from twitching. Why did you come to America's house in the first place?"

"I didn't mean to come to that idiot's place!" Cuba snapped. "I was on my way to visit Canada!"

At the sound of his other little brother's name, England's heart skipped a beat. "And you got lost, did you?"

"As if! Canada was visiting his stupid brother, and we were gonna meet up after."

"And your proof of this?"

Cuba pulled out his cell phone, flipped it open, and began punching numbers. He tossed it to England without a word. On the screen was a log of the text messages still in his inbox, along with the times they were sent. The most recent ones - ones sent from Canada, discussing getting ice cream later - were timed as being sent not long before England got his.

"Alright then," said England, satisfied that Cuba was telling the truth. "Can you remember anything at all before you were hit on the head?"

Cuba screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead. "Lessee...I don't think I made it into the house..."

"Not before I got here, aru," grumbled China. "I can promise you that. I think I threw out my back, aru."

"Wait, I'm gettin' it!" Cuba shouted, ignoring or not hearing China's comment. "There was this black car in the driveway, and these two dudes in these suits, 'n they were...were..."

There was the creak of mattress springs, as America jumped to his feet. He nearly fell over, and had to be supported by England. "What were they doing?" he asked, looking frightened. "Tell me!"

"I don't hafta tell you anything, you pig!" snapped Cuba. "How about instead of ordering me around, you try to not be a pain in the -"

"FOCUS!" England roared.

The two bickering nations shut up and stared at him.

"That's better," England growled, glaring at them. "Cuba, finish your story. America, ask questions when he's done. Get on with it!"

Still glowering at America, Cuba continued. "Those men in the black suits, they had Canada with them. He looked like he was asleep or something. I thought he was America at first and I got out of the car to scream - well, never mind that now. Point is, when I got close enough, I saw it was Canada they had. I told 'em to put my buddy down and explain, and they tried to feed me some bull about how he was just going for -"

"His next therapy session to ease growing anxiety over the status of the economy," finished America.

Everyone in the room stared at him. He was staring forward, taking deep breaths and clearly fighting panic.

"But they couldn't have," America continued, speaking to the wall on the far side of the room, and not to any of the nations around him. "They _couldn't_ have. They promised it was for me, so why take someone else? It doesn't make _sense_."

"America?" asked England, trying to get the nation's attention. When that didn't work, he leaned over and grabbed America by the wrist. "America! Snap out of it!"

America yelped and snatched his wrist away. "That hurt," he said, looking accusingly at England.

"Belt up!" said England, using irritability to mask the panic welling up inside of him. "Do you remember something? Do you think you know who took Canada? Speak, boy!"

"But it _can't_ be them!"

"Alright, well who can't it be?"

America cringed, and England could just imagine the debate going on in the boy's head. He must have been sworn to secrecy on this by someone pretty high up in his government. To tell, or not to tell? Break his promise, or rescue his brother?

And then, he spilled. Not surprising really. If he were to choose between a promise and his brother, Canada would win, any day.

"They are federal employees," said America very quickly, as if worried that he'd be attacked for what he was about to say. "They've been visiting my place every other day, for the past three weeks. I think. It's been kind of hard to keep track of time, since they started."

"What did they start?" asked England, fighting to keep his voice steady.

"You know things haven't been doing too good around my place, right? Well, my boss knew how stressed I get during these times. So the head of the CIA - those government people who have that secret stuff they do - talked to him and had it arranged with me that I'd get these therapy sessions. I'd be fixed up, and that might help the country's situation improve."

"You know it doesn't work like that, don't you, aru?" China softly asked.

America turned to him, still not able to look China in the eye. "I...thought it might not be. But I wanted to try it. I had never tried something like that, so it _could_ have worked. And if it made my people happier, why wouldn't I try it?"

England had been tempted to point out that it obviously wasn't working, but bit his tongue. Neither the time nor the place. He could pick on the poor lad when Canada was rescued and America was in his right mind.

"Thank you, America," he said. "This is great news."

"Great news that Canada was kidnapped by strange men, aru?"

"No, that America was able to identify the kidnappers, you git!"

"But I don't get it!" insisted America. He began rocking back and forth in his chair, looking completely lost. "They know what they're doing! They're careful! They should only take me!"

"But you and Canada look almost exactly the same!" England said. "People have mistaken him for you before. It's happened countless times!"

America said nothing to this, but leaned back in his chair. He still looked troubled.

Englaned sighed and continued. Keep calm and carry on and all that. "Cuba, did you see which way the car went?"

"Ehhhh, sorry. Nope." Cuba rubbed his forehead and looked sheepishly at the ceiling. "I'd been trying to say earlier, when I saw those goons kidnapping my buddy, I told them to shove their excuses where the sun don't shine and let Canada go. That was when one of 'em snuck up behind me and whacked me on the head."

"And you passed out and didn't see where they went, aru?"

"Of course I didn't pass out from that," snorted Cuba. "Give me some credit! I passed out after the bastard snuck up behind me and shot me with some kind of a tranquilizer."

"But the part where you passed out and lost any leads on where Canada went is the same." England was ready to scream in frustration, but managed to hold it in. "Right. We have no idea where Canada was taken, and he is having God-knows-what done to him at this very moment. Does _anyone_ have any ideas that might work? Anyone at all?"

There was a pause, and then Kumajiro raised his paw. "I can sniff," he suggested.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ten minutes later, they were on the road and England felt like a bloody idiot. The car they were crammed into was moving at a crawl, and England was hanging out of his window like some idiot making _Jackass: Resurrection_, or whatever daft movie America's people were making next.

Unfortunately, the awkward positioning was necessary. Kumajiro was outside of the car, sniffing away for a trail for them to follow. Someone had to keep an eye on the little fellow and call out when to make turns, and with China driving, America falling into a half-sleep, and Cuba too large to lean very far out his window, England was the only one left.

"He's running off to the right! The right, I say!" England called, as the bear darted off the main road and into the forest running alongside it.

"I cannot turn right!" China insisted, stopping the car. "There is nothing to drive on!"

"There _must_ be, or else Kumajiro wouldn't have gone off that way!"

"If it is the right path to begin with, aru. How do we know that he isn't following some random car? All he's going off of is the smell of the exhaust pipe!"

"No other cars around," Kumajiro pointed out. "No one else driving out here. Hurry!"

England extracted himself from the car and ran after the bear. As he ran into the foliage, he noticed that much of the plant life looked rather...squashed.

"Hold on a tic!" he called, shoving branches and leaves aside. The exposed ground was fairly muddy, and had clear tire prints imbedded in them. "They drove in this way!" he shouted, waving his arms to signal China. "It's fine, the path is just a bit overgrown! This way! I'll follow Kumajiro, and you follow me!"

"This is insane, aru," muttered China, but put the car in gear.

* * *

There were snakes around his wrists and ankles, and Canada couldn't see a thing.

He was having trouble breathing. He wanted to sit up, but he couldn't twitch.

All around him, he heard scratching, scratching, scratching. There were rats on the floor, pencils on paper, and he wanted it all to _go away_.

Sometimes they did. Sometimes, more came. Sometimes, they talked about _mental inhibition_ and _clean slates_ and _de-stressing_.

He didn't know what those things were, but he suspected they weren't helping.

Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he knew that his brother, his America, had gone through all of this, and for days after days after days. And this day, it was his turn.

It was a small bit of relief in this big, wide, storm, that he could promise some bit of rest for his brother.

* * *

Kumajiro saw the facility first, and nearly tripped England while running back with the news.

England saw it next, sneaking through the bushes to catch a glimpse of it. His first thought was that it was fitting that such a sinister-looking cement building be the headquarters of a group of bastards who dare steal his brothers.

His second thought was that if he didn't hurry and give China warning, he would drive right into the damned thing and they'd all be caught.

England ran back to the car, waving his arms and calling for them to stop the car immediately. He was nearly run over for his efforts. Fortunately, the car had been moving at an extremely slow pace.

"Now what, aru?" asked China, after recovering from the shock of England jumping in front of the car. "How do we get in?"

England frowned. The facility had a number of guards wandering the perimeter. If they tried to simply rush in, they would surely be caught. He thought back to his days fighting in World War II, trying to figure out what they could do.

He ran through his memories of trying to escape from Italy's place, and that's where he hit upon the idea.

"Stick close to me!" he hissed, and crept through the bushes until he was near several guards. The guards appeared to be talking, and not paying much attention to their job. Either they had yet to have any intruders and gone soft because of it, or they just were terrible guards. Given that they were from America's place, one was just as likely a guess as the other.

England snatched a rock off of the ground. He looked pointedly at the stretch of wall near the guards, and then over to Cuba and China. Both of the nations nodded, and Cuba pounded his right fist into his left palm.

With all of his might (which was quite a lot, seeing as he was a nation), England threw the rock at the wall. It hit the concrete hard enough to crack the rock. It definitely made enough of a commotion to get the attention of the guards.

"It came from that way!" one of the guards said, pointing to the area of bushes that the nations were hiding in.

Just as England expected, they walked over to the bushes to investigate. As soon as they were within reach, the nations attacked.

The guards slightly outnumbered the nations, but they still didn't stand a chance. Not while the nations were ready for them coming. Lacking a wok, China took out a guard with a roundhouse kick to the face. Beside him, Cuba was punching several guards in the gut. England tackled one of the guards to the ground and hit him repeatedly in the face, glad that America wasn't there to taunt him over such ungentlemanly behavior. Kumajiro bit the last guard in the ankle, distracting him long enough for China to knock him out.

"Right," said England, when all of the guards were unconscious and hidden in the forest. "Well done, everyone! Now then, let's find a uniform that fits."

"Don't want to wear a uniform," Kumajiro whined, as the nations began to strip the guards.

"No, I don't suppose you'll need one," said England, pulling a pair of stolen pants over his own trousers. "Just try to keep out of sight, if you please."

"This is a bit baggy, but I think it will work, aru," said China, finishing buttoning up his own uniform.

"I'm good," said America. He was, England noted worriedly, still looking much more drained than he should. A chance to sneak into a forbidden area and save a captive should have greatly appealed to his hero complex.

"Dammit, none of these will fit me," growled Cuba, examining the guards still in uniform.

"Oh dear, I believe you're right." England frowned and scratched his chin. What to do? There was no way Cuba could pass as an employee, not in his usual Hawaiian shirt. And given his...size, it was highly unlikely he could sneak in, like Kumajiro. "Well...Cuba, yours is the job of keeping an eye on the car. Don't let anyone steal it or find it. When we get Canada out of there, we're going to need to drive out of here as quickly as possible. Can you ensure our getaway?"

"Fine," said Cuba, who knew full well England was playing up the job to appease him. "Just save my buddy, will 'ya?"

* * *

Inside of the facility was cold and sterile and everything one would expect of a shady government building. It was terrifyingly silent, which made England's voice, no matter how much he tried to lower it, feel as if it were making them horribly conspicuous.

"Do you remember anything, America? Anything at all?"

They had made it into the facility fairly quickly after stealing the uniforms, but England didn't want to press their luck. The sooner they found Canada, the sooner they could get to safety. And the only one who had any chance at all of knowing where Canada was, was America.

America was trying to remember, it was obvious he was. What bits and pieces he appeared to be collecting were clearly doing him no favors, however. He had gotten incredibly pale upon entering the building, and kept looking anxiously around. Every so often, he would rub his wrists or stroke his right forearm. And try as England might, he couldn't coax a damned thing out of him. So all the group could do was press forward.

After several turns, they found a room ahead of them. Peering through a window, England could see that it was full of documents which were bound to be interesting and, just as importantly, was empty.

"This way!" he hissed, darting for the door.

China started to follow, but paused when he realized that it was quiet...a bit _too_ quiet, especially if America was tagging along. Yes, America had been pretty quiet throughout this venture, but there weren't even any footsteps...

He turned to ask America if he was alright, and nearly screamed. At some point when China and England had both stopped paying attention, America had slipped off. Judging by the lack of polar bears in the area, Kumajiro had gone with him. But China could faintly hear what he hoped to be America's footsteps down a nearby corridor, so the wayward nation couldn't have gotten far.

"England! England, wait, aru!" China called, as loudly as he dared.

England did not hear this, and thus did not wait. China fretted as he watched England slip into the room, apparently oblivious to the fact that his companions were no longer with him. What to do? Go get England? But America's footsteps were growing fainter, and soon it might be too late to find him!

_Aiya!_ thought China, and ran down the corridor after America.

* * *

Cuba was pissed.

The others got to go in there and save his buddy, while he was stuck outside! It wasn't _his_ fault that he was a little heavier than most of the guards and couldn't find a uniform that fit him! But no, just because he couldn't squeeze into a stupid outfit, he had to crouch in some bushes and babysit the stupid car. He felt like a moron. The many twigs and leaves poking into him weren't improving matters either.

"Hey, did you see something over there?"

Mid-mental complaint, Cuba froze. As slowly as he could, he began to lower himself to the ground to maximize how much the bushes hid him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I thought I saw something shine over there, like metal in sunlight."

Two guards were drawing nearer and nearer to Cuba's hiding place. He stayed perfectly still, knowing that they likely wouldn't notice him for a bit, unless he attracted their attention with movement. He knew he should be hoping that they leave, but he saw no point in that. The car wasn't exactly the best-hidden thing in the world, and they already were suspicious of the area. There was no way they weren't going to see it. Besides, he had an idea of how to make his carsitting more enjoyable.

"Is this what you saw?" asked one of the guards, brushing some of the leaves and branches off of the hood of the car.

"I guess so," said the other. "What's a car doing out here?"

"Someone had to have driven it this close. Radio it in."

Before either of them could do a think, Cuba lunged forward and tackled them both. They were easily scrawny enough that he could get his arms around them both and throw then to the ground in a heartbeat.

The guards were both rendered unconscious as soon as their heads hit the ground. Cuba laughed and threw them into the bushes. That was payback for before, as far as he was concerned. That should learn 'em to knock out Cuba!

He was almost done re-covering the hood of the car with branches when he heard another guard calling out. Cuba managed to hide in the bushes, just as the guard came around from the other side of the complex.

"Ryan? Ryan? Where the hell are you? I know you were assigned to guard this area!" the guard said.

Cuba grinned, as the guard began to walk closer and closer to the bushes. Perhaps being lookout was going to be more fun than he thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

It was a miracle that China had yet to run into any other scientists at the facility. Maybe they were all on lunch break or doing research in another area of the building. In any case, he hoped his luck would hold out. He had no idea if any people from his house had been hired here, and if the scientists had been _wanting_ to turn America against him, they likely wouldn't be too happy at finding China snooping around their place.

Jogging down the hallway, China did not see America until he nearly tripped over him. America was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Kumajiro was sitting next to him, butting his head against America's side.

"America, what is going on, aru?" asked China. "We have to get back to England."

America said something so quietly that China almost didn't realize he spoke.

"What, aru?"

"I said, he's in there." America nodded at the door across the hallway from him.

"What?! How do you know that, aru?"

"Because that's where they kept me. I remember, now. They would carry me in, and if I ran, they would catch me and I - I can't go back in there! I can't!"

China leaned down and held out his hand. "America, we must go in, aru. If Canada is in there, it's up to us to get him out."

America stared at the hand China offered him.

Kumajiro nuzzled against America. "It's okay!" he said. "We're here!"

"Whatever they did to you, it's over, aru," China said. "I know it must have been terrible. Really, I do! But you must go into that room, and you will not go in alone, aru. And I promise that you will come back out, and Canada will be with you."

America looked at China, then back to his hand. Without saying a word, he took it and allowed China to pull him to his feet. "It's not far," he said, and though there was the slightest quaver in his voice, he walked to the door unflinchingly.

* * *

Upon entering the room, England immediately headed for the desk. There were some things left on it, and he wanted to know what these people had been working on recently. With any luck, it would pertain to America (or, really, Canada), specifically where they were holding him.

He found a folder on the top of the pile, and flipped it open. Paperclipped inside were a number of pages, typed up and neatly sorted.

England removed the cover page and scanned it:

_Project Deep Love_

_Objective: To test the practice of psychic driving on a national personification, thereby seeing if the quality of life for the represented nation increases._

_See Document 51 for a complete explanation on the theory of psychic driving._

_Procedure: Test subject will be Alfred F. Jones, officially known as the United States of America. Mr. Jones will be brought to the facility for ten (10) hour sessions, and is to be returned to his home promptly after that period of time._

_Permission has been granted by the president to approach Mr. Jones. Will immediately proceed to speaking with him._

_Mr. Jones has agreed to participate in therapy sessions. Preparations are to begin immediately._

_- Upon being brought to the facility, subject is to have curare administered, to allow for relaxation of the body during the procedure._

_* Note: As recorded in the log, subject will require twice the amount of how much curare can be safely administered to a healthy teenage male._

_** Note: Due to subject resisting being brought to sessions, permission has been given to administer curare before bringing subject to the facility._

_- Following administration of curare, subject is to be confined to their cot for the entirety of the session._

_- For the entirety of the session, subject is to have Drug F administered intravenously._

_* Note: To address concerns and rumors, the subject is NOT having LSD administered. For exact details as to the makeup and side effects of Drug F, please see Document 6, Section 9b._

_Administrator Memo: People, enough with the jokes about us getting our country high. We are here for serious work, so kindly act like it._

_- For the entirety of the session, subject is to listen to the designated recording, labeled "Reassurance"._

England flipped through the rest of the pages. They were the field log mentioned earlier. Starting with day one, they detailed everything.

_Day One: 10:00 A.M. - Subject arrives at facility. Subject appears to be unnerved by location, but willing to go ahead with session._

Everything.

_10: 35 - Subject is showing signs of discomfort, and is struggling against restraints. Orders are given to continue as planned with the session._

Why?

_2:00 P.M. - Subject has begun to scream wordlessly._

It was all the same.

_6:30 P.M. - Subject has ceased screaming and movement, likely due to exhaustion._

Why did it go on for so _long_?

_8:00 P.M. - Session concluded. Subject was unresponsive when unrestrained and permitted to leave. Subject was assisted in returning to his home._

Why didn't they end it?

_Day 2: 10:00 A.M. - Subject resists attempts to bring him in for session. Force is required._

Why did it happen to begin with?

_Day 8: Subject is complaining about being unable to sleep. Doctors will prescribe sleeping pills, to resolve the issue_.

Why did anyone think this was a good idea?

And then, he came to Day Twenty-One. Today.

_10:00 A.M. - Subject once again attempts to resist being brought in for sessions. Assistants report that the subject once again failed to recognize them, as well as being unable to remember the purpose of their arrival. They noted several significant changes in the subject's behavior, primarily an increase in focus and energy and the denial of all knowledge of his identity as Alfred F. Jones._

_This loss of identity is consistent with the subjects from Experimental Groups 1 through 7. Researchers are to focus on shifting the memory loss towards more beneficial areas of the mind, such as thoughts that will cause the subject stress (the economy, political turmoil, social issues, etc). From there, researchers should be able to imprint the idea expressed in the Reassurance recording._

Brainwashing. Subliminal suggestions. That was it. That was why America was acting so strangely. And that was why he was so hostile towards China. His mind was so susceptible right now. His boss gave him a harmless warning, to be careful when dealing with China. The idea festered in his brain, until he saw it as a full-fledged warning, a threat that must be dealt with immediately.

"China, come have a look at this!" England called. "China?" And then, when there was no response and he finally looked over his shoulder, "Bollocks!"

* * *

There were at least twenty beds lined up in neat rows, each with the same medical equipment next to it: an IV and some sort of tape recorder.

Every bed was also occupied by a person. The "patients" were of both genders and were from a wide range of ages, races, and backgrounds, but all were twitching and clearly in discomfort.

"What is going on with them, aru?" asked China, leaning in to inspect the occupant of the nearest bed. There was a woman in her mid-thirties lying there, with an IV jammed in her arm and a pair of headphones clamped over her ears. Carefully, China reached down and worked the headphones off of her. She made no reaction to his contact with her, save for looking marginally more relaxed after the headphones were off.

Holding the headphones to his ear, China heard "_Helen O'Grady, you are loved and needed...Helen O'Grady, you are loved and needed...Helen O'Grady, you are loved and needed_".

"Aiya," he muttered, placing the headphones back onto Helen O'Grady's head. It pained him to throw her back into suffering, but he couldn't risk tipping someone off that there were intruders.

America didn't even look at the people being drugged and brainwashed. He walked straight through the room, with Kumajiro at his heels. There was a door at the opposite side of the room, and he opened it without hesitation.

There was only one bed in that room. Even before getting a good look, China knew who lay in it.

"Canada," whispered America, walking to the bed. "Canada, wake up. Please, wake up!"

On the bed, his brother was tied down and whimpering. His eyes were half-open, and his lips were bleeding from having bitten them. Like with Helen O'Grady and the nineteen other poor people in the other room, he was attached to an IV and headphones. He showed no signs of recognizing that anyone had entered the room.

"He is like all of the others, aru," said China, sadly. He reached down and carefully pulled off the headphones. They were turned up just loud enough that _America, all is well...America, all is well...America, all is well..._ could be heard, chirped merrily by some disembodied lady who didn't care who was driven insane by her repeated words and phrases.

With a gentleness China would never have associated with the northern nation, America undid the straps around Canada's limbs. China winced at the sight of Canada's wrists, so raw and already bleeding, but America didn't say a word. He proceeded to slide the IV needle out of his brother's arm, pressing down on the spot to prevent any blood from leaking out.

"I'm going to kill them," said America. "I really am." There was no anger or drive behind those words. It was a simple statement of fact.

"We'll see to that," China promised. "As soon as this is over, we'll talk to your boss, aru. For now, we have to get Canada out of here."

America stared at China. "Why? What does my boss have to do with this?"

China stared back, trying to figure out that response. "Oh," he muttered, looking at the floor. He should have known... "Never mind me, aru," he said, facing America again. "But we can sort this later. Now, let's get Canada and -"

"Excuse me, but are you authorized to be in this room?"

China and America spun around to see a surprisingly heavy-set scientist standing in the doorway, blocking their only exit.

Before either of the nations could say a word, Kumajiro darted out from under Canada's bed. With a cry of "Charge!", he latched his teeth into the scientist's leg and began ripping at his ankles with full claw strength. It wasn't enough to completely incapacitate the man, but it was enough to distract him. So when an unused IV cracked him across the back of the head, he was taken completely by surprise.

"For God's sake, get Canada and RUN!" roared England, pulling the scientist from the doorway.

China and America moved fast, each grabbing Canada by the arm to support him as they half-dragged, half-carried him to the door. They didn't have much time. England got the upper hand through the element of surprise, but the scientist was much taller than him. Even with Kumajiro still clinging to his leg, it looked like the odds would eventually fall to the scientist's favor.

It didn't take long to make it to the door though, even carrying Canada. Just as China shouted, "We made it, aru! Hurry and get out, England!", England got a good hit and knocked the scientist over. Scooping up Kumajiro, the nation ran for it while the scientist lay stunned on the ground.

From there, it was a mad dash to the door. They no longer cared about staying under the radar. If they were caught, it would be impossible to explain why they were carting Canada around. And just as they were nearly to sweet freedom, the alarm went off.

"Bloody man must have gotten his wits about him," growled England. "No, don't bother seeing if anyone's coming! Run! _Run_!"

Run they did. They didn't stop, not when they reached the door outside and not when they saw Cuba, who was standing over a pile of downed guards, looking very smug.

"That must explain the lack of security, aru!" said China, as he dived into the driver's seat and started the engine.

"I'm that good," said Cuba, as he climbed into the passenger's seat. He glanced into the back seats, where England, America, and Kumajiro were piling in with a still-unresponsive Canada. "Hey, what's wrong with him? Canada? Buddy? Talk to me!"

"He's gone through the mill," said England. "He and America both. We'll get them both help, but now we need to _go_!"

"Aiya! Buckle up!" shouted China, backing through the forest as quickly as he could, as works poured out of the facility after them. In seconds, they were flying towards the main road and safety.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

In the Oval Office, America's boss - otherwise known as the President of the United States - was examining the paperwork he had to get through that day. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It seemed like the last few weeks had been less productive than usual. There had also been very little of Alfred around the White House. The president wondered if those two things were related. Personification of the country or no, Alfred was more than a little nuts and had a short attention span, but things seemed to get _done_ when he was around. And for all Alfred complained about how boring he found Washington D.C. to be, he popped up there quite a lot...

The president paused in both his paperwork and his musings, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had the unpleasant feeling that he was being watched.

As he glanced up from his desk, he saw that this was right.

Standing in front of him were two men. One was short and blond and looked _very_ pissed. The other was Chinese and, while not as angry as the other man, did not look very happy either.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" the president demanded. "How did you get past security?"

"We can manage" said the blond man, his voice thick with an English accent. "It's hardly the first time any of us visited each other's bosses."

Something about that British accent was familiar to the president. He began to comb his memory. Something to do with the last time he met with the royal family of England? "You're Britain!" he said, everything clicking into place. "And you've come here with...China, is it?"

"Correct, aru."

"And to what may I owe the -"

"Stow it!" snapped England. "We can dispense with any formalities. Both of my little brothers were hurt by _your_ men, and I want to know what you intend to do about it."

The president stared. "I'm sorry?"

"Mr. President, aru," said China, "Were you aware that your agents - your 'CIA', I believe they are - have been routinely abducting and subjecting America to painful and harmful procedures?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," said the President. "I granted the CIA approval for a new therapy technique, which they assured me that Alfred gave full consent for. Their research showed that it would help with his stress over economic issues and -"

He was cut off as England slammed both hands down on his desk.

"BOLLOCKS!" shouted the island nation. "You gave your CIA permission to take my boy and _torture_ him!"

"Mr. England, please -"

"I assure you," England went on, ignoring the president's attempts to interrupt, "that those 'therapy techniques' were both unethical and illegal. They were also most certainly _not_ beneficial to the poor child's health in any way, shape, or form."

"Mr. England, I was told that Alfred -"

"_Don't_ just use his name like you are his friend!" snarled England, and the look of fury on his face, left over from his heyday as a pirate, frightened the president enough to listen.

"America, then. I was told that America was made fully aware of the procedure and agreed to it."

"Bloody hell, do _you_ even know exactly what that procedure entailed?"

"Sir, with all due respect, any information exchanged between myself and the CIA is classified."

"Mr. President," China cut in, seeing that England was about to explode with fury, "you say that America gave full consent for the procedure. Perhaps that is true, aru. But," he continued, raising his voice slightly as the president opened his mouth, "are you aware that the procedure was also carried out on the personification of Canada, who I assure you did _not_ agree to the tests? Furthermore, are you aware that besides abducting and experimenting on Canada, your people assaulted and knocked out the personification of Cuba?"

Judging by the look of horror on the president's face, he did not. England had to hand it to China for knowing which cards to play. America's boss was now scratching his head, no doubt thinking of the international bru-ha-ha that could result in dragging Canada and Cuba into a CIA project, harmful effects or not.

"Both of those men are willing to keep the issue quiet," said China, after letting the president stew for a minute. "Most fortunately, it looks as if both will recover very well from the damages inflicted on them, aru. They only have one condition for their silence, and it is the only thing that England and I are asking for."

That was simplifying the matter quite a lot, England reflected as he stared the president in the eye. He wanted a good many things, including the chance to shoot every bastard in that facility himself and to be allowed to punch America's boss in the face. Still, no sense in pushing one's luck.

The president frowned. "With all due respect, Mr. China, as the President of the United States, I can not -"

"We want you to rescue the innocent people being held as lab rats in that facility," England cut in, determined to end the farce as quickly as possible. "Do that, and we'll see to it that you're spared having to navigate the international minefield that you've found yourself in."

The president hesitated. He almost looked as if he was going to be sick.

"All we are asking is for you to be responsible," England urged. "No one will fault you for that."

The president laughed humorlessly. "You seriously think that?"

"Can we at least appeal to any sense of honor you might have? Or your love for your country?"

The president sighed. "I'll give the order right away," he said. "You have my word, the facility will be seized by the authorities and everyone being held prisoner will be released."

* * *

Of course, he should have known it wouldn't have been that easy. He should have bloody _known_!

It had been nearing evening when the call had come. England and China had spent most of the day returning to Washington, while England fussed and cursed his younger brother for deciding to pick now of all times to live at the exact opposite end of his land from his boss. Given how America and Canada had been in desperate need of medical attention, they had been dropped off at the nearest hospital. Cuba had stayed behind to keep an eye on them, after England fell into British Empire Mode and _had_ to confront America's boss face-to-face, _right then and there_. The upshot was that with said confrontation over, they now had to get themselves across America's entire continent.

Of course, being nations, it somehow didn't take as long to make it over there (no one was sure exactly how the nations managed it, but that's how it went), but they still were desperate to check on the North American brothers.

Fate was a mischievous lady however, and no sooner had they made it to the hospital than "God Save the Queen" began to play from England's pocket. Ignoring the odd looks he was getting, he snatched it up to check the number. If it were any other time, he would have let it go to voicemail straight away. This time though, he knew it was America's boss, or at least someone calling on America's boss's orders. The president made good on his promise, it appeared, and the facility must have already been seized and searched. England had smiled as he answered the call, anticipating the good news he could bring to cheer up his little brothers.

But now...

"Kindly repeat what you just told me," England said.

"There was nothing, sir. Nothing at all," said the federal agent who contacted him.

England growled. "Do you mean to tell me that the _entire fucking facility_ just up and vanished?"

"No sir, the building itself was still there. But the documents you described, the room full of test subjects, none of that was there."

"You must have missed it! I knew I should have gone! Look, I'll be over there right away and -"

"We searched every room, sir. Nothing was left."

Someone was going to _die_. England wasn't sure who, but he was beginning to feel nostalgic for his pirate days and for when he didn't have to feel guilty about making heads roll. "So what next?"

"Well sir, that's about it."

"...Explain, and do so without the 'sir's, or so help me I'll shove a cutlass up your arse."

"Si - um, seeing as we have no evidence that any criminal activities had taken place, we can't legally persecute anyone."

"But surely America could give names!"

"He could, but given his mental state, unfortunately his testimony won't carry very much weight."

"Are there no documents anywhere else? Any hints as to where those people went?"

"We're still looking, but right now it doesn't look good."

England rubbed his forehead. He shouldn't let this upset him so much. That is the way it always goes. As long as the nations have existed, their bosses and other officials have done terrible things and buried it ten feet under.

"Mr. England?" the agent cut into his thoughts. "I really am sorry si- ah, I wish I had better news."

"Thank you," replied England. He shouldn't yell at the man. None of this was his fault. "Goodbye."

And with a click, he hung up.

* * *

Cuba had already said his goodbyes to Canada and hi-tailed it back to his place. England suspected that Cuba might have stuck around longer, except that Canada and America were sharing a hospital room, and sitting in such a confined space with his hated enemy was asking too much of the nation.

China was somewhere around the hospital. England knew that he didn't want to leave until he was sure that America and Canada were better-recovered. England also knew that China wasn't about to monopolize the North American siblings before their older brother had a chance to talk to them.

When he entered their room, England felt a considerable weight lift from his chest. Both of his younger brothers were sitting up in their beds, looking much more alert and well-rested than they'd been for days. America's eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, while Canada was enjoying the pint of ice cream that Cuba had gifted him before leaving. When England stepped into the room, both of their faces lit up and both gave cries of "England!"

"Hello lads," he said, dragging a chair over so he could sit between their beds. "Feeling better, I see?"

"Much!" said Canada, taking another bite of ice cream.

"Meh, I wish I knew how to change the channel on this thing," said America, scowling at the TV. "The news isn't the most awesome thing ever."

England took that to mean that America _was_, in fact, doing well.

"What happened?" asked Canada. "I heard you on the phone outside. You didn't sound too happy."

England sighed. "Not all good news today, I'm afraid. America, China and I spoke to your boss about the facility"

America leaned on his side, so he could converse more easily with England. "Don't tell me that some of those bastards got away."

England curled his hands into fists. "All of them, actually. And...the people there weren't found."

The room was silent, save for the attractive anchor woman on the TV giving the latest news update.

"No way," Canada finally murmured. "All of those people? Just...gone?"

"It appears so." England closed his eyes, as if that would make it any easier. "The man I spoke to promised that they were still searching, but..."

"But it doesn't look hopeful," America finished.

England looked at his former colony. He as taking this better than expected, or else he wasn't as recovered as he appeared. England had been expecting America to jump up screaming that he'd be a hero and save everyone, as soon as he heard the news.

America gave a small smile, as if he knew what England was thinking. "I kind of knew," he said. "They're my people, you know? I can feel them. Even if I hadn't been getting screwed up by them, I still think I would have known at some point. And somehow, I know they're still alive. Just as soon as I'm able, I'll find each and every one of those people and make sure they're back at their homes and able to live normal lives. That's what a hero does!"

England laughed. _That_ was the America he knew! "Do that, lad," he said. "Don't let it stop you, what they did to you. They had no right, and your government should never have hurt you like that, but -"

"What are you talking about?" America cut in. "What does my government have to do with this?"

Brow furrowed, England stared at America. Was the boy still suffering from amnesia? "Your government was running those experiments," he reminded him. "They asked you to take part in them. You said so yourself."

"I did?" America frowned and rubbed his head. "No. I know the head of the CIA offered a new type of therapy session, but...but I never had a chance!"

"What?!"

"Yeah! Those bastards had kidnapped me before I could start! I don't know who they were. Maybe they're a part of some terrorist group or something. But I need to talk to the CIA head and apologize for not making it to his -"

"America!" It was England's turn to interrupt. "My boy, you are mixed up! It should come back to you, but that _was_the work of your government! The head of your CIA was torturing you!"

"NO!" shouted America. "You don't know what you're talking about! They would never...not to me! What sort of boss would -"

"Am I interrupting?"

Everyone froze, with England and America flushed from yelling and Canada wide-eyed from the confrontation. They all turned to find that China had come up to the doorway without their noticing.

"England, aru? Come out here and talk to me, would you please?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course," England replied, getting up to follow China out.

"China, wait!" America called. "I want to talk to you!"

"I'll be in to talk to you, just as soon as I've spoken to England, aru. I promise, I'll be right there!"

China led England down the hall, until they reached a stretch of corridor that was empty. "You can't force America to accept this, aru," he said when they stopped.

England raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Denial is the first stage of grief, is it not?"

"I...but...for God's sake, China! How could you even _think_ about entertaining that little fantasy of his? It's more than obvious that his government did something to him, and he needs to accept that if he's to avoid it happening in the future!"

"And he will accept it, aru. He must be given time, though."

"I just...I simply don't _get_ it," said England, running his fingers through his hair. "How can he be that naive? How?"

China smiled, and England found himself remembering how old the nation really was. "America is still young, aru. You and I have been in this world for much longer. We know more of what our bosses may be capable of. The loss of innocence is never easy, aru."

England closed his eyes and felt so tired. He remembered everything of his past. Every beheading, every invasion, every minute.

And then he looked at China, who had been a nation for so much longer. China, who suffered through so many political upheavals and revolutions that it was a wonder he survived in the same form for so many years. China, who was cut and shot and bled by his own siblings, and had done the same to them in turn. China, who, if what America once claimed was true, likely was tied to a bed himself and brainwashed by bosses who would rather win his love through manipulation rather than a good rule.

England opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what to say. Finally, he managed "China, I'm -"

"I understand, aru. Now, if you'll excuse me, I wish to speak to America and Canada."

England watched China walk gracefully down the hallway to the North American brothers' room. He heard China calling their names, and heard America's loud voice drifting down the hallway: "China! Hey, China! Listen, I think I said some bad stuff to you and was really shitty, and I'm _really_ sorry!" He saw the door swing close, cutting off the rest of America's apology.

With that, England left the three of them to talk and relax and listen to the news report on the TV. It was a rather heartwarming story, actually. The police in a nearby city finally arrested a man responsible for a number of hate crimes against several Chinese immigrants living in the area. The man had been caught trying to beat a Chinese girl on her way home from school, but was stopped and restrained when nearly everyone on the street rushed to her aid.


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

One year passed, and America and Canada had pretty much entirely recovered from those three hellish weeks. Canada was once again his sweet-tempered and eager (if overlooked) self. America was loud, obnoxious, energetic, and completely normal. In fact, one would never have known that the incident had happened, were it not for one thing: the few times that England, China, or Canada dared ask if anything was learned about the fate of the test subjects or the people responsible for the experiment, America went quiet in ways that were too much like how he looked during times of war for anyone to pursue to topic.

Cuba and China moved on past the incident as well. With all of the things in need of looking after in his country, China had long forgiven America and left it to him to take care of his affairs. Cuba, for the most part, was happy denying that he was ever mixed up in any schemes cooked up by America's government.

Another World Meeting rolled around. Half of the nations were late, and a quarter of the other half didn't show up at all. America fell asleep midway through Spain's presentation, France tried to grope everyone, Canada was marked as absent in spite of actually being there, Russia terrified the Baltic brothers simply by sitting next to them, and Germany nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep order.

When a one-hour break was finally called, everyone went their separate ways to relax. America sought out Japan to discuss one of his favorite topics - video games.

"So there are these people on the internet saying about this game," America was saying, slurping a cup of some soft drink or another, which he procured from God-knew-where. "They say it was around in arcades in the eighties, but then it disappeared. Its name was Polybius. You ever heard of it?"

"I am sorry, America-kun," said Japan. "I am afraid that no one from my place made such a game."

"Yeah, no one knows who made it. But here's the scary thing! All these people are saying that these creepy men wearing black suits would come in and check the machines! So folks think that the games had been created for some reason, like that aliens are monitoring us through them or something!"

"How interesting," said Japan, which was how he replied when he had no clue what America was talking about.

England was about to go over and tell America off for being such a gullible idiot, but found he couldn't.

Conspiracy theories. The works of bored fools and people who spend too much time on the internet.

But it was only a year ago that he and several other nations had rescued America and Canada from a secret plot to abduct and brainwash countless unsuspecting people, all done through America's government.

And if that didn't sound like a conspiracy theory, England didn't know what did.

So he let America go on with his speculations. It might do the lad good to consider such things, England mused. Several decades ago, a monitored arcade machine. A year ago, brainwashing. Tomorrow, God knew what. Best to think and be prepared and be able to accept it, when the time came.

Because all would most assuredly _not_ be well.

* * *

**Final Notes: While I did not intend for this fic to have a specific setting (hence the lack of actual dates), I based what happened to America and Canada off of the works of Dr. D. Ewan Cameron, who, among other things, believed mental illness to be a transmutable disease and hoped to cure schizophrenia through a procedure known as psychic driving (mentioned in fic).**

**Psychic driving pretty much worked as was written in the fic: Cameron would take test subjects (usually patients seeking treatments for minor things like anxiety disorder, and who didn't consent to experimentation) and try to use drugs such as LSD or curare to wipe their minds blank, and then tie them down and force them to listen to a tape on loop to "reprogram" their minds properly.**

**Cameron's experiments were later used for a CIA program known as Project MKUltra, which was essentially a brainwashing experiment to try to combat brainwashing techniques believed to have been developed by China, Russia, and North Korea.**

**At least one test subject was believed to have committed suicide because of the drugs administered to him. Many others suffered side affects such as severe memory loss, in some cases forgetting who their parents were, or mistaking the researchers as their parents. To this day, it's uncertain how many people were involved with the tests, and what exactly the extent of the damage was.**

**So yeah, the more you know! :D**

**Thanks for reading**


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